Torch shrugs. "Let me know if you need anything else."
Chapter 3 - Torch
"Do you want to read him a story?" Sidney asks, her voice soft as she smooths Max's hair back from his forehead. "It's part of his bedtime routine."
Such a simple thing. Reading a bedtime story, but it symbolizes everything I've missed, everything I didn't know I should be doing for the past two years.
"I, uh..." My throat feels tight. "I don't know if I have any kids' books."
Sidney smiles tiredly. "We brought some. They're in the blue bag."
I find the bag and unzip it, pulling out several well-worn picture books. The covers are soft from repeated handling, the corners bent. Signs of love, of stories read over and over again.
"This one's his favorite," Sidney says, pointing to a book about a dog who gets lost and finds his way home. "He usually asks for it first."
Max is already nestled in the portable crib, clutching his elephant. His eyes are heavy, but he perks up when he sees the books in my hands.
"Story?" he asks hopefully.
"Yeah, buddy," I manage to say, despite the emotion clogging my throat. "Story time."
I sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed, not sure how to do this. Do I just read? Is there a special voice I should use? Christ, I feel like an imposter, a stranger playing at being a dad.
Sidney seems to sense my hesitation. "You can sit closer, so he can see the pictures," she suggests.
I scoot closer to the crib, opening the book about the dog. "Once upon a time, there was a brave dog named Spot," I begin, my voice rougher than usual.
The story is simple: Spot gets separated from his family, has some mild adventures, and eventually finds his way back home to be reunited with the people who love him.
It's a kids' book, but the theme hits closer to home than I'd like to admit.
"Spot home," Max murmurs sleepily as I turn the last page.
"That's right, buddy. Spot found his way home." I close the book, strangely moved by the whole experience.
Sidney leans down to kiss Max's forehead. "Good night, sweetheart. Mommy loves you."
"Night, Mama," he mumbles, eyes already closing. Then he looks at me expectantly.
It takes me a second to realize he's waiting for me to say goodnight too. I'm frozen, overwhelmed by the simple expectation that I'm part of this ritual now.
"Good night, Max," I finally say, reaching out hesitantly to touch his soft hair. "Sleep tight."
He smiles sleepily, then rolls over, clutching his elephant. Within moments, his breathing deepens as sleep claims him.
I stand there watching him for longer than I probably should, trying to process that this is my son—my flesh and blood—falling asleep in my house. A little person I helped create but haven't helped raise. Until now.
"He goes down pretty easily," Sidney says quietly, breaking the spell. "But he sometimes wakes up in the night."
I nod, not trusting my voice. We move toward the door, and I take one last look at Max before we slip out, leaving the door cracked open a few inches.
Back downstairs, Sidney looks dead on her feet, dark circles prominent under her eyes in the living room light.
"You should get some rest too," I say. "You look exhausted."
She smiles wryly. "Thanks for pointing that out."
"That's not—I didn't mean—" I fumble for words. "Just meant you've had a rough few days."
